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As the fall winds rattle at our door |
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And call us to the lunatic sea |
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For the pleasure games we play so easily |
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That never really make a soul |
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The details will haunt us in strange ways |
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Like snow and smoke and skeletal leaves |
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Who will resurrect us? Jive, ass and teeth |
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Once we've all drunk all our fill of fire |
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A faint sadness hangs about the trees as if our life and times were fruit |
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Ripened too quickly into rot and fallen on this stinking spot |
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Tones of history ring here like a gong but the pitch is bent and queer |
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Upon a beach of bones the iron orchid stands |
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And casts her cobalt gaze across the years |
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Mrs. Amelia Underwood, carry my heart in your hand |
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Jesus will shine on you brightly, into the hollow lands |
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Now the sky, a fiend of fire, the season's tears to ancient wine |
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A ghostly blight from godless eyes, the howling flames of our design |
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That I might live and mean it like the lion means to kill |
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In the lion all desire and prayer is one |
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Used to be time was upon us, carried our hearts on our sleeves |
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Wearing the joy and the sorrow like beautiful fall pained leaves |
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Mrs. Amelia Underwood, carry my heart in your hand |
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Jesus will shine on you brightly, into the hollow lands |
